Inopportune
by inkcrane
Summary: Tumblr prompt involving a bucket of water, an unwanted suitor, and spying parents. Red Swan and Snowing, FTL.


Snow sat on their bed pretzel legged and in silence as she searched her brain for a reason. Part of living here and being a princess meant potential husbands visited from all over the kingdom to try and win the woman's hand, and she knew Emma detested it. She hated feeling like people viewed her as a damsel in distress, even though her light hair and blue eyes lent themselves easily to the stereotype. Snow could only watch as Emma Swan wreaked havoc on the kingdom's diplomatic relations with a practiced glower and a few well placed daggers in the form of words.

Emma didn't like gifts, especially not the traditional tokens of affection. Suitors learned quickly she didn't care for flowers; if she wanted them, she would walk to her favorite field and lay there for the afternoon. Poems, she said, were empty promises used to attempt to manipulate people, like spells without magic. The queen flinched when Emma went so far as to tell the poor man a couple of words didn't actually rhyme in his work. He left quickly, indignant. A gift of ten fabulously crafted dresses actually appeared to mortify the woman, who sat in her chair in a pair of wool breeches, knee high boots, a corset, and a tunic. Emma didn't _do_ dresses. Another tried the expensive route. He arrived in the kingdom with a beautiful, golden palomino colt as a gift for the princess. The tiny horse was sweet and like a ray of sunshine on four little hooves and Snow actually wanted to keep him, but Emma opened her mouth. She said she liked her big, ornery gray mare just fine and she didn't have much use for such a small animal, anyway. The man and his pony left.

Snow somehow mustered the grace to not slap a hand over her eyes right then and there.

Trying to impress the princess never ended well, either. One man arrived carrying a chest of gold on his shoulder without the aid of his attendants, and Emma scoffed. Strength meant nothing without brains. (Which became clear when the man in question simply stared, slack-jawed.) Archery and swordsmanship underwhelmed her as well. Snow couldn't blame her for this, really. She herself taught her daughter how to shoot an arrow and her father showed her how to properly wield a sword, and even though the woman spent most of her years growing up in a land without a use for such instruments, she took to them like a natural. Emma definitely didn't need a man to protect her, and she definitely didn't want that, either.

So what did she want?

"Snow, go to bed," James mumbled into the pillow. The dark haired woman tilted her head slightly to peer at him. He worried less than she did, apparently.

"I just keep thinking about Emma," she answered after a long silence. The pillow sighed in response as a hand found her waist and dragged her closer.

"She reminds me of someone, you know," he said after he lifted his head just high enough to speak audibly. His wife quirked an eyebrow and stared at him.

"Yeah?"

"A headstrong woman. Knows what she wants. Strong, determined. But stubborn."

Snow's lips set in a line and her husband laughed.

"She is your daughter, after all," he continued, and chuckled at the huff he received by way of response. Eventually, the queen settled into bed with her husband as thoughts of stubborn daughters and countless suitors raced through her mind. Sleep took her soon thereafter and ended all thoughts of how to properly run a kingdom.

Snow paced the hallway, arms folded and brows knit. Another round of visiting potential husbands came and went with Emma's words biting at their heels as they practically fled the large meeting room. The blonde barely even tried to be polite, and Snow swore she saw her temper flash near the end of the string of men vying for her hand. The harder they persisted, the more her daughter dug her heels in and refused them. When confronted, Emma simply shrugged and said she didn't like any of them and couldn't stand the idea of marrying one. When Snow practically begged her for an answer to exactly what sort of man she wanted to marry, Emma replied with something inconsequential and vague. If Snow had been the sort to yell, she would have right then, but she wasn't and Emma had already taken her leave, anyway. Incorrigible woman.

She needed to get out. Mind made up, Snow changed out of the dress she wore that day and opted for a pair of simple leggings, leather boots, and a top suitable for spending a day in a saddle. Since her days running, she found solace on the back of a horse. Castle walls felt oppressive and imposing when she needed mental clarity, and nothing solved that like a bit of fresh air and an open sky. As she left her room, she informed the guards she did not desire an escort and headed down the hallway, hands in her hair as she knit it into a functional braid.

Just as the queen rounded a corner, she spotted her daughter and another woman. Red. The cloak always gave her away, even though she currently wore the hood down and allowed brown curls to cascade down her back. They were inseparable these days, especially with Emma's temper burning just below her skin after days on end of entertaining marriage proposals. The brunette always calmed her, and for that Snow was glad. The dark haired queen opened her mouth to greet her daughter and the other woman, but just then, Emma turned and backed Red into the stone wall of the hallway and kissed her. And to her surprise, Red tangled her fingers into Emma's hair and returned it. Snow covered her mouth with a hand to muffle the surprised squeak that involuntary left her lips, and thankfully, the two didn't hear or notice her as she darted behind a suit of armor and watched. Red wrapped an arm around the blonde's waist and pulled her tight against her, and then made a pleased noise as Emma's lips moved to her neck. Oh Gods, everything made sense. Emma didn't want to marry a man at all, and judging by the look on Red's face as Emma's hand glided down her side to settle on her hip, Red didn't particularly want her to marry a man, either.

Snow felt stupid just then for not noticing it before. Red trailed Emma like a lost puppy, and the queen always figured their lingering friendship from Storybrooke held them together. After all, the woman in the cloak had a personality congenial to Emma's, and she could keep her temper in check on even the worst days. Everything made so much sense now… Even little things Snow noticed that she didn't think anything of at the time became blaring warning signs. Red was a good shot, and she offered to help Emma as well when Snow taught her to use a bow. The brunette's hands lingered just a tick too long on Emma's arms and waist when she showed her proper form, and Emma always looked completely nonplussed when Red stood a little too close while instructing her. And they kept to themselves almost always. Stupid and blind. The whole time, Snow was blithely unaware that her daughter was in love with another woman, and that sitting through hours upon hours of marriage proposals probably felt like torture.

And the two thought they were alone, too, evidenced by the fact that Red's hand snaked under Emma's shirt and rose higher, exposing pale flesh to the cool air of the hallway. Afraid she'd see more than she wanted of her daughter's love life, Snow stepped out from behind the suit of armor.

"Em-" she croaked, embarrassed. The single syllable hit the other two women like a bucket of ice water and they separated as though both touched a hot coal. "…ma," Snow finished flatly, and blushed up to her hairline. Suddenly, she couldn't form a coherent thought. Now that all three shared the same secret, Snow couldn't think of a damn thing to say and grasped at words like leaves in a windstorm. "You don't… and um… I'll just… no more… there won't be…" Snow rubbed her face with her hands. "No more suitors, ever," she managed to squeak out as fast as she could speak. Before either Red or Emma had a chance to respond, Snow turned and nearly ran down the hallway. Well, as long as she was happy…


End file.
